Page 82 of You've Got Hate Mail
Must be the lighting or the angle. Since we cut off her secret extra food supply, she’s been slimming down some.
“Breakfast is coming as soon as your daddy’s out of the shower,” I tell her.
I’ve said the same thing for almost two weeks now.
And just like every morning that I’ve saiddaddy’s out of the shower, my brain flips a switch and takes control of itself and flashes me erotic images of Heath—naked, wet, and slamming me into the side of the shower with his penis.
Stop it, Cricket.
Distraction.
I need a distraction.
And what’s a better distraction than chocolate chip pancakes?
It won’t be the first time I’ve made breakfast up here. Late last week, I made an egg frittata that I left in the oven for Heath to finish when he showed up in the kitchen smelling like a woody forest with towering trees, which made me think of?—
No, Cricket, focus.
Breakfast.
I’m making breakfast.
For the third or fourth time now?
At least the third.
Without dropping eggs or spilling milk or exploding flour or confusing salt for sugar or doing any of the other things that could go wrong in a kitchen.
I’m making both breakfastandprogress.
And I’m not thinking any deeper than that about it.
I hum the song that was in my head earlier, getting my favorite earworm back on track as I dig for flour, sugar, chocolate chips, baking powder, salt, milk, butter, and eggs, then find a griddle that I preheat on the stovetop, keeping half an eye on the hallway in case Lav’s up early.
Since I’ve been here on Fluffy patrol, she’s sleeping later.
I asked Heath yesterday if he wanted me to stop coming since Fluffy’s food issue seems to be resolved, but he said routine was good for Lav, so here I am.
Doesn’t take long to have the first pancakes on the griddle.
But as soon as I’ve put the last one on, I hear something clatter to the floor behind me, across the countertop to the living room.
“Lav?” I call softly.
No answer.
“Lavender?” I say a little louder.
Still no answer, and I can’t see her in the living room, so I head down the hallway.
Her door’s shut. No noises.
Just in case she’s still asleep, I go check on Fluffy to see if she’s the source of the noise.
But kitty’s not in the kitchen.
Huh.
